


Busted: Divergent

by ChelleyPam



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:36:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3466241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelleyPam/pseuds/ChelleyPam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie's luck at laying low is about to run out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Is it allowed to do an AU of your AU?
> 
> Whether it is or not, this is what that is. The 'Busted' framework but with Charlie skating by without being found out before her commission runs. 
> 
> Also known as the other way that story could have gone.

The attack came after full dark. From the outside it must have looked as though the town was easy pickings. When the members from the war clan managed to breach the wall, however, they discovered they'd grossly underestimated their target.

Steel rang against steel as swords deflected makeshift clubs and axes. There were archers on several of the rooftops, with both traditional bows and crossbows, and almost uncanny aim. Fires had been set in pits along the street to allow for visibility. That, coupled with the fact that the people who lived in the town were familiar with the layout and the attackers found themselves on the ropes.

Barabbas had not expected such an organized resistance. The towns and villages they'd hit up until now had been weak and fearful, downtrodden from the harsh rule of the Monroe Republic and thus easy to raid. These people were ready and trained for a fight. He could feel the courage of his men starting to slip and knew he had to do something to shore them up.

His eyes sought out a sign of whomever was leading the defense for the town. Habit had him looking for a man, probably larger than the others, or at least older. He was thrown a bit off balance, therefore, when it was a woman's voice he heard barking out orders. He turned towards it and spied a slender, lithe form with dark gold hair in a tight braid and wielding a sword as though she'd been born with it in her hand. 

A growl sounded in his chest. He gripped his swords and started running towards the woman. If he took down the leader he would not only disrupt the discipline of the towns people, he would also regain the confidence of his men. One arm rose for an overhead strike, swinging down towards her shoulder only to have her dodge to the side at the last minute and strike out with a solid kick to his midsection. He folded slightly over the blow, staggering back a few steps. “Bitch!”

“You have no idea.”

She attacked with sure, well trained moves. Her single sword against his dual ones, only that didn't last long. With a deft spin and a strike with her foot that sent his hand against the wall of one of the houses his off hand went numb and the sword fell from his grasp. She followed this by driving the hilt of her sword into his nose and he heard the crunch of the cartilage. His eyes began to water from the pain of a broken nose, rendering him mostly blind and disoriented. He didn't even see the killing blow as it came.

~***~

Miles rode at the front of the column. They'd been tracking that damn war clan that had come out of the Plains Nation for more than month now. It hadn't helped that it was large enough that they'd split up into at least two groups, one heading north and the other heading in a more southerly direction. Bass had taken two companies to follow the second group. Miles was taking his four companies to go after the larger one. 

“Can we really call this a war clan any longer? It's more like a militia.”

He shook his head in response to Jeremy's question. “A war clan is defined by how they run things. No code of conduct. Advancement through killing the guy above you. They make our boys look like cuddly little kittens. This is a war clan.”

“Wonder what gave them the balls to cross the border.”

“Well, if we can manage to take the leader alive, I'll be sure to ask him.” He reigned his horse to a stop, his eyes peering above the treeline. “You see that?”

A column of black smoke was curling over the trees. A lot of it. “Yeah.” Baker sighed. “Damn it.”

“Let's go check it out.”

They had come across several burned out villages on their search. People and houses scorched and gone. Miles was getting more and more surly with every one. They needed to squelch this war clan and fast, before they lost any more face in front of the citizens. 

When they rounded the bend and came across the little walled town, however, they found it still standing. The smoke was coming from a pit that had been dug about fifty yards outside of the walls and people wearing bandannas over their mouths and noses were hauling clan members out in wagons and throwing them on a funeral pyre.

Baker let out a long, low whistle. “Wow. This is unexpected.”

“Ya think?” Miles took in the tableau. His eyes scanned the walls, spying men with crossbows and compound bows on watch. The gates were open now that it was daylight and the fight was over, allowing for the wagons to come and go without hesitation. Through them he could see people making repairs to damaged buildings while others went about the day-to-day requirements of keeping a community running. 

“Tell the men to stay here. You and me will go check this out.”

Baker nodded and relayed the orders. Miles swung down out of his saddle and handed the reigns off, Jeremy following suit. Together they approached the gates and walked in. The guards noticed them, but they did not stop them. They knew better than to try and bar entry by the Militia, at least.

They had made quite the little township for themselves. There was a central kitchens and dining hall, the doors open to allow a breeze to go through to offset the heat from the fires. The aroma of roasting meat and baking breads wafted out on the wind. Several people were seeing to skinning and cleaning what was likely the results of a morning hunting and fishing excursion. There was a mill that was turned by a pair of mules harnessed to a wooden beam. The blacksmith caught both soldiers' attention, because the two grown men and the younger boy working the bellows had swords on racks as well as horse shoes, tools and iron fittings. 

Miles and Jeremy exchanged a look at that one. Technically they weren't doing anything illegal. Citizens were prohibited from having firearms, but for the most part they were allowed swords for self defense. Still, rare was the town that had a blacksmith who could also work as an weapon smith. Most of those guys were employed by the Militia. 

And if the dead war clan members were any indication, some of these people knew how to use those swords.

They were aware of the eyes on them. Miles caught the eye of one of the hunters and waved him over. Most people didn't fail to answer to him. Baker said he was a 'scary son of a bitch' and he supposed he was. It could also be the uniform. This guy didn't hesitate, either. He came right over, wiping his hands off on a tattered piece of cloth.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

“Looks like you had a bit of excitement last night.” Miles nodded his head back towards the wall for clarification that likely wasn't needed.

“Yes, Sir. They hit us after dark, but we'd been hearing about how towns have been getting raided. Had our patrols stepped up.”

“Well, you're the only town that has managed to survive them so far.” His eyes check the man's wrist briefly. No Militia brand. “Any idea who you did that?”

The man gave a nod. “Yes, Sir. Charlie. She was Militia, but her time ran up. Settled here a few years back. Bandits are problem out here on the border, so she whipped most of us into shape so we could defend ourselves if there was trouble.”

That explained quite a bit. “Looks like she did a good job.” Miles didn't miss the fact that this man carried a crossbow on his back, as did a couple of the other hunters. One had a crossbow but also had a short sword at his hip. “Any chance we could talk to her?”

“Don't see why not. She's helping the doc with those who were injured last night.”

Jeremy blinked. “You have a doctor, too?”

“Yeah. Doc Foster. She was here before Charlie, but she knew her from when she was a kid. She helps the doc out in exchange for living space. I'll walk you over.”

They went through the streets that were marred by brown-red splotches here an there were people had bled from the fight until they arrived at a two story house with a wood burning boiler outside. A slender woman with a long braid of honey colored hair was hanging up freshly laundered sheets, a domestic task that was incongruous with the sword hanging from her hip.

Jeremy gave a chuff. “I don't fucking believe it.”

It took Miles a moment longer, but once he recognized her he couldn't believe it either. An amused smile tugged his lips. “Lieutenant Matthews. Imaging meeting you here.”

Her spine stiffened briefly before she turned about. Large blue eyes blinked in disbelief. “General Matheson?” She shook herself out of her shock and dropped the sheet she'd been handling back into the laundry basket before walking over. “What brings you out this way?”

“Well, we've been tracking a war clan.”

“Huh. We ran into one of those last night.”

“From the looks of it, you ran over them.”

“Ran into. Ran over. Same thing in the end.” She summoned a smile that was tinged with nervousness. “Captain Baker.”

“Matthews. How's the prettiest officer in the Militia?”

“I don't know. How are you?”

Baker laughed, running a hand through his hair. He may have even blushed a little. It was a back and forth they'd used when in the field back when she'd still in the Militia. Before her time and run and she'd opted not to re-up. 

Still, something was nagging at the back of Miles' mind. “I thought your name was 'Christina'.” He jerked a thumb at the hunter. “This guy called you 'Charlie'.”

He noted the slight hesitation in her. It was brief, most probably wouldn't have noticed it, but he did. “It's a nick name. You know me. Tomboy to the end.”

Well, she was that. Still, something didn't feel right. 

The conscription crew had grabbed her when she was fifteen and she'd ended up in St. Louis. She'd distinguished herself and had risen to sergeant and eventually earned a field promotion two years into her five year stint from non-com to commissioned officer as a lieutenant. It had tacked another two years on her time in the Militia, and she'd been an above par soldier. No half-assed measures from her. They'd offered to make her a captain if she'd stay on for another three years, but she'd turned the promotion down, leaving once her time was up.

Much to Bass' disappointment. He'd taken a liking to the young woman that final year of her stint, and not just because of her reputation of turning down all suitors. She was gutsy, smart and just about fearless, meeting challenges head on and wading into the fray.

So why was she acting skittish now?

Miles tuned out the banter between her and Baker. He studied her more closely. She was still in good shape, but her curves looked more pronounced now. She had dark circles under her eyes, most likely from having to fight instead of sleep followed by tending the wounded, but there was still the strong beauty to her that he had appreciated and his best friend had found intoxicating. In spite of being out of the Militia for four years, she still held herself like a fighter and when she ran her hand over her hair he noted the callouses there that confirmed she still practiced with that sword on a regular basis. 

In the end it was the shape of her mouth and nose coupled with her conflicting names that did her in.

Miles' hand shot out, fingers gripping her by the chin and turning her face towards him with a sharp motion. Jeremy's hand went to his sword hilt in reflex, stepping between Miles and the hunter who was still hovering nearby. For her part, she stilled, one hand flexing on the hilt of her sword and her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes flared wide like a frightened doe.

“Charlotte Christina.”

Her skin blanched under her tan. He watched her throat work as she swallowed, her nostrils flaring slightly as she drew in a breath. 

“Hey, Uncle Miles.”

Baker's head whipped around to stare at them. “Uncle?”

Miles released her chin, but he didn't lower his hand right away. “Jeremy, this is my niece. Charlotte Christina Matheson.”

“No shit?”

Charlie took a step back, uncurling her fingers from her sword. “Just my luck. I manage seven years in the Militia, the last eighteen months almost in your lap, and you don't suspect a thing. You should up four years after I leave and I get busted.” She looked over to the hunter. “It's all right, Carl. I got this.”

“You sure, Charlie?”

Miles shot an irritated glare at the man. He blanched and excused himself. Baker's eyes kept flicking from Miles to Charlie and back again. 

Miles flexed his neck. “Where are your parents?”

“No idea.” He arched a brow at her to which she shrugged. “They pulled up stakes and took off after I got nabbed.”

“Is that why you used the alias?”

That made her wince. “Yeah? Look, I don't know what happened between you and Dad, but I heard quite a bit when they thought I was asleep. I knew enough to know they were trying to avoid you. That they're afraid of you and were convinced that you're looking for them.” She shrugged again. “I thought you might have the conscript crews keeping an eye out for me or Danny if they got us.”

Which he had. She'd never been stupid. He'd known that the first time he'd had to work with her. She wouldn't have been made an officer without brains and proving she was dependable. Conscripts rarely got officer rank. That was usually only reserved for volunteers. “How do you know they bolted?”

“Maggie. Mom and Dad kind of...imploded. Maggie and Dad were an item. I'm...not entirely clear on what happened, but it seems she got offended when my parents decided to make a run for it instead of trying to bribe the garrison to give me back. That's still pretty common when it comes to daughters. Willing to pay enough and the conscript crews will give the girls back.”

It was common. He and Bass just opted not to do anything about it. 

Miles looked at his niece. She'd been in his Militia for seven years, following his orders, catching the attention and praise of her superior officers, had been a damn Valkyrie on the battlefield. He'd never realized that she was the same person who used to chatter away at him over the phone about her ballet lessons or the latest princess movie. 

He reached out and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms about her and holding her close. “Good to see you, Kid.” She gave him a sharp jab in the ribs. “Hey!”

“I'm twenty-six, Miles. I'm hardly a 'kid'.”

He smiled and let her go. “I guess not. I mean, I know what you're capable of. And what you've done here.” He shook his head. “Damn good work, turning a bunch of hunters and farmers into a town militia able to fend off something like those dicks.”

“From what I hear, I learned from the best.” She offered him a smile. “So...just you guys?”

“Nah. We left the men outside.” He noted the scowl on her face. “What?”

She sighed. “You marched soldiers up to the town wall and no one came to tell me.” She shook her head. “Clearly I still have work to do. A lot of the old men still have trouble wrapping their heads around the fact that the person who got them into fighting shape doesn't have a penis.”

He couldn't hold back the laughter at that. It was the greatest weapon female militia soldiers had in their arsenals; being underestimated. “One step at a time, Charlie. Do we need to be concerned that you've got a blacksmith making weapons and a force able to use them?”

“Only if you have a problem with the town being able to defend itself from bandits. The Militia's big, but you can't be everywhere at once. And I'm the only person in town with a gun.” She was allowed. The brand on her wrist and her discharge papers gave her that right. And she was right about them being able to defend themselves.

Miles was about to say something else when he was stopped by a youthful voice singing out as a small figure came running from the house. 

“Mamma! Mamma! Look!”

Charlotte's spine stiffened again, her eyes going wide. Miles watched the child, possible three years of age, reach her side and hold up a piece of paper on which he'd drawn what was supposed to be an animal of some kind. He had rosy cheeks that were still plump with baby fat and a riot of pale blond curls atop his head. His eyes were a bright, familiar shade of blue as they sparkled up at his niece. 

“Look! Look! I made for you!”

Jeremy was seeing the same thing he was. “Oh, this is going to go over well.”

Charlie swallowed and turned to bend down and pick up the boy and set him onto her hip. “What is this? What did you make me?”

“It's a deer!”

It looked nothing like a deer. It was more like an oblong blob on four stick legs with more sticks branching out of the top. 

“Very good, Benny. I love my deer.” She kissed his cheek, pointedly avoiding her uncle's gaze. 

'Benny', however, didn't avoid him. He threw himself forward with the movements of a child who knew his mother would never drop him, pointing a finger into the dark wool of Miles' uniform. “Who you?”

Charlie pulled the boy back. “Benny, this is your Uncle Miles.”

Miles recovered from the shock and flicked a look to Charlie. “Benny?”

“Benjamin Daniel.”

Benny studied Miles with a frown, as though measuring him. He must have found him acceptable because he threw himself forward again, this time with both arms outstretched. The Commanding General of the Monroe Militia caught him out of reflex and lifted the child up into his arms. “How do you do, Benjamin?”

“Benny.”

“Sorry. Benny.”

The child started to play with the epaulets on his shoulder, his small fingers tracing the M insignia on the buttons. “Like Mamma's.” He meant the brand. 

“Yeah, just like Mamma's.” Miles looked back over to Charlie, his eyes locking with hers. His niece serving seven years in his Militia without saying a word he could probably overlook. 

Taking off and giving birth to the child of Sebastian Monroe without a word...that was another matter entirely.


	2. Chapter 2

“Stop it.”

Charlie looked up at her uncle. “Stop what?”

“Stop planning your escape. Don't make me put a full time guard on you, Charlie. I will do it.”

She scowled. “I don't know what the big deal is anyway. It's not like Sebastian Monroe has been celibate. There's probably a half dozen other Baby Monroes out there.”

“Probably,” he conceded. “Still, none of those are also related to me.” She blew an errant strand of hair out of her eyes, still looking decidedly surly as she watched Jeremy Baker who was holding Benny and introducing him to the horses. Miles continued to watch her. “Don't make me reinstate you, Lieutenant.”

She blinked, her head whipping around look at him. “You wouldn't.”

He arched a brow at her. “Is that a dare?”

“Uncle Miles!”

“I will put you back into uniform if that's what it takes to make you behave. You were a lot easier to get along with when you had to do what I told you.”

She glared at him. “You're a dick.”

“Not really impressing on me that I shouldn't. At least then I could have you whipped for insubordination.”

She put her hands on her hips. “I'm a mother of a three-year-old. My son needs me. I can't take proper care of him if I'm on active duty.”

“Your son is also the son of the President of the Republic. I think we can find him a nanny.”

Her brows snapped together. “I'm not letting someone else raise my son!”

“Imagine how Bass is going to feel, then.” That shut her up. She boggled at him, her jaw falling open. After a moment he reached out and closed her mouth by pressing up on her chin with his fingers. “Do we have an understanding?”

They did, but she wasn't going to say it aloud. Instead she growled under her breath and returned to her assigned task, which was packing up what she felt they couldn't live without.

~***~

The return of Miles and his troops had been a blessing. The clan had managed to take a garrison post and had holed up inside the walls. They had hung the bodies of the soldiers they'd killed to do it over the walls. Had they been facing farmers and traders it might have been terrifying. The Militia just got pissed.

Normally he would have stayed with Miles on the field, but he'd been there for almost thirty hours non-stop. He was tired, hungry and there were wounded men who had been taken back to the camp. He wanted to check in with the medical staff and get an update. 

First thing was first. He wanted to sponge off the blood and dirt and put on something clean. In the camp he needed to maintain a put together image. It was good for morale to see the leaders looking unflappable and strong. His steps took him to his command tent out of muscle memory.

If anyone had stopped to ask him what he would see in his tent, Jeremy Baker on all fours playing pony for a young boy would have been way down at the bottom of the list. Scratch that. It wouldn't have even made the list.

“Captain?”

Baker looked up, his expression even funnier than his position. The child had hold of his collar and was giggling happily. He was a beautiful boy. All blond curls and bright blue eyes. “Sir!” Jeremy quickly but carefully reached around as he came up into a kneeling position and helped the child down onto his feet. “Sorry. I thought you'd be with the general.”

Bass looked at the child who was studying him with a frank gaze. “I came in to check on the wounded. What's with the kid?”

Jeremy looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Well, that's kind of why I was hoping you were with Miles.” 

Bass' brow arched. “He's Miles' kid?”

“No!” The child was squirming to get down, hands now reaching for the map table and the models there. Jeremy set him into a chair and let the boy play with the miniature cannons and soldiers. “Uh...remember Lieutenant Mathews?”

Did he ever. He'd been beside himself when he found out that the pretty officer had packed her gear and lit out before the ink on her discharge papers had even had time to dry. He had hoped she'd stay in Philly, had been certain his feelings weren't one sided. It had been a huge blow to his ego. “What about her?”

“Well, she's not a 'Mathews'. She's a Matheson. Charlotte Matheson, to be exact.”

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. “Miles' niece?”

“Yeah. Shocked the hell out of him, too. We found her in this little village north of here while we were tracking down our half of the war clan. She'd managed to whip the townsfolk into a passable militia, for their own defense only. They took the fuckers out!” Jeremy winced and glanced at the child. The boy looked as though he hadn't heard him, too interested in his playing. “Anyway, when one of the locals called her 'Charlie' and Miles got to puzzling over it, he put two and two together and got Charlotte.”

Bass shook his head and made his way to the wet bar. He poured two drinks, one for him and one for Jeremy. “Unbelievable. She was in our Militia for seven years. Was an officer for five of it and stationed for Philly for the last eighteen months. And we never saw it.”

“That, apparently, was the idea. She was keeping a low profile.”

“In other words, she knew we were looking for her family and kept her head down.” Bass handed Jeremy his glass. “Any word on the rest of the Mathesons?”

“No. Seems they took off as soon as they found out she got conscripted. The only person she's managed to find again was her step-mother. Some lady doctor from Britain who got stuck here when the lights went out. She broke it off with Charlie's father when he and the others ran instead of trying to buy her back from the garrison.”

Bass barely stopped himself from growling. “Breaking it off with Rachel apparently didn't free Ben from her influence. If he was thinking for himself he never would have abandoned his daughter.” He nodded to the toddler. “So what's with him?”

Jeremy looked from Bass to the boy and back again. Bass was just drinking from his glass when his captain took a deep breath, summoned a bright smile and said, “Congratulations, Sir. It's a boy.”

Some very good quality whiskey ended up flying across the room.

~***~

Charlie had spent much of the past three years acting as Maggie's nurse, so it had been second nature for her to join the woman when she'd decided that she might as well make herself useful. 

The Major who was the highest ranking medical officer had stopped just short of falling to his knees and declaring his eternal servitude once he learned that Maggie was a trained surgeon. True, it was in neonatal and pediatric surgery, but that meant she was trained to work on tiny and delicate systems under the most serious of conditions. She was a boon to vascular repairs and delicate work. 

The medical tent was nothing like their little clinic room back home. Charlie had never worked the tents, though she'd been in them more than once during her service. Sometimes as a patient, but more often there to visit the wounded. She'd almost forgotten the sharp, copper scent of blood mixed with richer, fouler scents from exposed bowels and organs. Now they came back upon her with a fierce vengeance. 

She was grateful for the warm presence that came up behind her. She glanced up to see Baker standing there holding a paper surgery mask to his face. “You're supposed to be watching Benny.”

“Uhm...I left him with Monroe.”

Charlie's hands froze. Maggie barked a sharp retort and brought her attention back to the task of carefully sponging excess fluids away from the surgery site. “How pissed is he?”

“I think he's still in shock and elation. They were playing soldiers with the map models when I left.” He moved out of the way of a medic bringing in a tray of freshly sterilized instruments. “He does want to see you, though.”

“He'll have to wait.” Maggie's tone brooked no argument. “We have another patient right after this one. I can't spare her now.”

Jeremy fidgeted uncomfortably. “We have other medics who can assist.”

“Those other medics have never worked with me. I don't have time to break someone new in. Tell Monroe that he'll just have to wait his turn.”

The medic and Baker both froze at that. Charlie was thankful that her mask hid her smile. “Sorry. She's scarier than he is. Make sure he knows that bed time is eight o'clock. I don't want Benny developing bad habits.” Then she essentially dismissed them from her thoughts and tended to her nursing duties.

The final patient for the day had been seriously fucked up. Even with Maggie's considerable skills they weren't too sanguine about his chances. Charlie scrubbed the blood from her hands, surgical gloves being a thing of the past now the power was gone along with easy access to rubber trees. Maggie had told her the first surgical gloves were invented in 1889 by some doctor at John Hopkins, made from natural latex and intended to keep the doctors from developing dermatitis from exposure to chemicals. Protecting the patients from infection had been a bonus. Still, no rubber trees, no latex, so physicians were back to being exposed to not only skin irritants but a higher risk of blood borne pathogens. 

“Are you up for this?” She loved Maggie's accent. It was like warm honey to the ears. 

“I don't have much of a choice. Benny's with him.” She tossed the surgical apron into the hamper of soiled laundry to be washed and boiled. 

“At least grab something to eat first. You're exhausted. No need to be both exhausted and hungry. You can fight on one, but not on both.”

“What makes you think there will be a fight?”

Maggie let out an indelicate snort. “Maybe because I know you and he's a man used to people jumping every time he snaps his fingers. This is a head on collision waiting to happen.” She nudged Charlie towards the tent Miles had secured for her and where a simple meal of bread, cheese and apples was waiting. The mess tent had closed down hours ago and they hadn't stopped working long enough to catch a hot meal when they were available. The two women quieted their rumbling tummies enough to hold them over until morning before daring to head over to the command tent.

They walked in to see Sebastian Monroe seated in a chair next to the cot that had been brought in for Benny. The child was asleep, cheeks rosy and curls already a tangled mess from the pillow. His father rested his elbows onto his knees, his mouth resting against interlaced fingers as he just stared. He looked up when Charlie cleared her throat delicately.

Okay, now what did she do?

Maggie walked around her. “Why don't I carry him to our tent so you two can talk?”

Bass got to his feet, his expression distrustful. “That won't be necessary.”

“Oh? You think the two of you will be able to discuss this without at least screaming? Come to think of it, perhaps you should both disarm and let the guards outside hold onto your weapons. Just to be safe.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Bass, this is Maggie, my step-mother. She's okay. Benny loves her.”

“He doesn't need to go anywhere else.”

She arched a brow at him. “You really believe that? He'll be fine with Maggie, Bass. Miles has her tent right next to ours. No one is going to come near them and she wouldn't take him away from me.”

He still didn't look entirely convinced, but he gave a brief nod of agreement and watched as Maggie gingerly lifted the sleeping child from his cot. He stirred only a little, deep in the boneless sleep of the very young as he squirmed so that he was able to rest his cheek on her shoulder, cupid bow lips pursed in an adorable little pout.

Both parents were quiet as Maggie exited the tent with her charge in hand. Bass waited a bit to give her time to be clear of them before he spoke. “Drink?”

“You'd drive a saint to it.” She gave a nod of acceptance. He poured whiskey for both of them and handed her one of the glasses. 

“Did you know?”

“That you were in the area?”

“Did you know you were pregnant before you took off?”

She was quiet for a protracted moment before she answered. “I suspected, but it still could have been nerves.”

“You should have told me.”

“I was trying to keep hidden from the two of you.” Him and Miles. She didn't need to elaborate. 

It hurt, but part of him understood her thinking. “You didn't have to go it alone, Charlotte. I would have done right by you.”

“I wanted to make my own choices, Bass. Live my own life.”

“It's dangerous out there, Charlotte! You and Benny could have been killed!”

“What happened to me being one of your most promising soldiers? You used to think I could do no wrong!”

“That was before you packed your gear and took off without so much as a 'good-bye'!” Their voices had been getting steadily louder and now they were standing toe-to-toe. 

“My commission was up! I never said I was staying after that! I didn't promise you anything!”

“You knew I wanted you to stay! That you always had a place in Philly! You knew that and you still left! You left knowing you were pregnant! That we were having a child!”

“You were the one who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer! I told you I didn't want to get involved, but you just _had_ to keep pushing!'

“Nobody forced you, Charlotte! If you'd stuck with 'no', I would have backed off!”

“Backed off?! You wouldn't know how!”

“I'm coming in!” They both looked as the flap to the tent opened and Miles ducked inside. He straightened up and studied them. The mix of amusement and concern in his eyes made them both self conscious enough to step away. “You're drawing quite the crowd outside, by the way. You wanna just bring this out there so we can all watch?”

Charlie huffed and said “Screw you,” the same time Bass said “Suck it.”

Miles rolled his eyes and took another step forward, one hand motioning in a 'come here' gesture. “All right. Hand them over.”

Bass frowned. “Hand what over?”

“Firearms, swords, knives...any and all weapons. I am not leaving you two in here unsupervised and armed. You wanna keep going at each other like this, neither of you get anything more than your fists. I don't trust either of you not to get violent right now.”

That was mildly offensive. “I wouldn't hit her!”

“But she just might hit you. I mean it. Disarm.”

Both of them scowled at the Commanding General but complied, handing over anything sharp or potentially lethal. Miles claimed a second side arm and a knife Bass kept in his desk for good measure. “All right.” He looked around the tent. “Where's Benny?”

“Maggie didn't think he should be here for this.”

Miles smirked. “I think I like that woman.” He waved a hand holding a couple of knives in a circular gesture. “Resume.” With that he slipped back out of the tent and left them to their 'discussion'.


End file.
